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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640030">When Sparrows Sing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WronglyDismembered/pseuds/WronglyDismembered'>WronglyDismembered</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dorohedoro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Songfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WronglyDismembered/pseuds/WronglyDismembered</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chota's song is doing things to En's head.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chota/En (Dorohedoro)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When Sparrows Sing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All I want to write about is these men loving the heck out of each other in eternal domestic bliss, so, I just can't bring myself to apologise for the self-indulgent, crackish quality of this lil drabble. Also, I firmly believe that Chota was a singer, and En has never forgiven him for damaging his mouth (only cause he'll never sing the same again - y'all know how much En appreciates his music). <br/>Lyrics are from 'Settle Down' by The 1975. It makes no sense, but I can't hear that song without thinking about Chota singing it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but the man was fucking <em>sparkling</em> tonight. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>En drummed his fingers on the parapet while he threw back the final swig of his drink. He was gonna <em>have</em> to do something about it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Making an excuse that sounded more plausible in his head, En left his associates to their discussions and made his way backstage. He'd take a walk, that would give him some time to think. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Even from backstage, En could hear the music, muffled, but he knew the words too well...</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>... We get back to my house. </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Your hands, my mouth...</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tried not to think about it, but the song was engraved in his brain. So too the man singing it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The maze of dressing rooms, rehearsal spaces, and connecting hallways could never be long enough for En to completely sort through the feelings he kept pushing aside. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When, despite his denial about intention, he came to the glittering door with the red handle, showy as the man himself, En hesitated, warring with himself while his hand froze on the knob. What was he doing? Was he a schoolboy with a crush?! </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>No. He had every right to be here, and it would be easy enough to create a meaningful reason if the need arose. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Either way, he needed to confront the situation head-on. He turned the handle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the back of the dressing room was a velvet loveseat, and it drew him with the enticing prospect of momentary comfort. En preferred velvet, and had picked this out especially, but his heart sank as he felt the cushions give way beneath him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>No matter how he looked at it, he was inviting vulnerability. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>...You're cold and I burn</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em> I guess I'll never learn...</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Those fucking lyrics. That fucking man...</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>En stood again. Pacing. Hating himself for still being there. He wanted... He didn't even know what he wanted. Every thought was a blur of feathers, golden blonde, eager smiles... Maybe it was just a concept that En loved. Maybe getting what he thought he wanted would only lead to unnecessary complication. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe attachment was too frightening.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>...You know I can't be found </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Around you...</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The last few verses, then the music faded. En still hadn't left.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He could hear the crowd shouting his name. adoring him like En longed to. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>No. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They could never adore him like En did. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>En gave him everything. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Almost</em> everything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The dressing room door swung open, and En turned from the window he hadn't even realized he was standing at.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"En? EN!!?!!" Chota was dazzling, racing directly for En, and crushing him in a hug that almost made En forget his determination.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Please. Chota. You're awfully sweaty." En protested, suddenly afraid he wouldn't be able to restrain himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh! Sorry! Gross!" Chota exclaimed, jumping back and holding his palms up apologetically.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His hair fell slightly in his eyes now, En couldn't help noticing. He rather put En in mind of a golden retriever, larger than he realized, adorable, and <em>far</em> too eager for his own good. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You sang very well tonight." En looked Chota in the eye, meaning every word. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>En watched while Chota drew his fist upward towards his lips, a nervous gesture En was becoming accustomed to seeing. "Thank you, that means so much, coming from you." Chota breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A pause. The elephant in the room had not been addressed, and it was apparent now that Chota noticed. That small praise did not sufficiently explain why En was in Chota's private dressing room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ah... If you don't mind me asking..." Chota started.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"... Chota..." En cut in. He sighed. He realized he didn't really feel like BS'ing his way out of this, especially not when Chota was looking like that. And the way he smelled... Despite being rather damp from his performance, Chota smelled <em>divine</em>. "What is that perfume you're wearing?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Chota brightened, his confused expression morphing as he blurted, "Oh! It's from you!! You know, the vanilla and rum spiced cologne you sent me after my first concert? It's <em>So</em> wonderful!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>En's eyes widened, so he <em>had</em> sent that. He recalled picking it out, but for some reason, it hadn't crossed his mind since then. The way the flavor blended so well with Chota's natural body odor - it created a fantastic aroma. And now it was all over him, too... "Ah, I do recall sending that, yes." En looked up at Chota's beaming face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Chota, for his part, kept smiling, as if wistful and anticipatory all at the same time. It was several moments before he acknowledged how closely En was watching him. "En...?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>En didn't notice until it was too late. He'd been gazing into Chota's eyes, and it had been far too long to write it off as anything normal. Not even a reliable excuse like being tired, or lost in thought, would be believable at this point, so he just kept on staring.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The hazel green of Chota's irises captivated his soul. How were anyone's eyes so big? And his mouth. <em>Perfection</em>. Soft pink lips, curved in the most ideally-defined cupid's bow. En knew what sounds that mouth could make, he knew the beauty of Chota's song. But his heart burned in his chest every time he slipped into thinking about other sounds that mouth could be making.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Chota..." En whispered again. He almost stopped himself, but the name slipped out. He allowed his heart to get the better of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Chota's eyes were glistening now. Was he crying?! "En?" He gasped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Fucking kiss me. Now." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
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